Manlove Romance Press
Paranormal M/M
Available at Publisher
Kris has been fine, even happy, while living in the territory of wolves, giving help when needed, but when the wolves start dying and Kris is asked for help, the only one he can think to turn to is his sire. While Kris might fear being abandoned again by the one he holds most dear, he'll do anything to save those who welcomed him when he was broken, even if it means seeking out the man who left him broken in the first place.
Teaser excerpt:
Night Escape was a decent enough bar. Created for creatures of the night to find pleasure without having to worry about sparking a witch hunt, it was dimly lit, soft blue lights floating high above, nearly touching the ceiling, while wisps of smoke floated about heads, concealing faces and voices like a thick fog. It had been several years since Kris had entered the establishment, but it still held that faint tingle of old magic and safety that wrapped around his frayed nerves like a loving mother's embrace. It helped to soothe the part of him he'd buried with the memories brought up by John, speared into his mind by the sight of the building.
Pushing everything away, Kris focused on why he was there and who he was doing it for. It wasn't just for John but the whole of the pack, which had welcomed a broken, castoff vampire. He'd been speaking the truth when he'd told John a rogue wolf could have taken over his pack, but all the rogue wolves had been forced to challenge him first before they'd even been able to step on pack land. The pack was his home, his family, and he refused to see them hurt because of ancient magic that affected all Alphas.
Kris slipped a hand into his front jean pocket, fingering the origami flower created by one of the children as a good-luck charm. He smiled, remembering big, bright, green eyes gazing at him in wonder before he'd made his departure. He chuckled softly. It had been a while since he'd dressed in anything more than loose jeans and a T-shirt with the occasional accessory of his leather jacket. Tonight he'd dug out his old, skintight black jeans that were worn but not yet torn, a formfitting midnight-blue tank, and, the one thing that had really shocked everyone, a leather collar. It was a simple black band, the inscription hidden against his throat.
He could feel the eyes of other occupants on him, but they all skittered away when the occupants realized he wore the collar. There was only one reason anyone would willingly wear a collar in this place. It meant they were claimed, and only those with incredible power could stake a claim, especially over someone with as much power as Kris was currently exuding. Only an Ancient.
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